


Past Acquaintances and Reconciliations

by Guanin



Series: Antipodal Shadows [16]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, homophobic parent, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:42:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3272099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oswald meets with someone from his past to try to form a new alliance to aid him against Fish Mooney, all the while worrying that his mother is suddenly giving him the silent treatment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Past Acquaintances and Reconciliations

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos! They mean so much to me. : )

They ordered Thai food. Oswald suggested that they relocate to the dining table to eat, but Jim didn’t want him to move his leg unnecessarily, so he brought him one of those trays used to eat in bed. A friend had given it to him as an apartment warming present two years ago and it had done little more than loiter at the back of the closet, but now he was glad that he kept it. 

“Jim, I need to tell you something,” Oswald said after they had both finished eating. “This is not the best time for it, but I didn’t know that my mother was going to chose today to try to wreck our relationship.”

“That sounds ominous,” Jim said, wondering if it was time to start worrying again.

“No, it’s not ominous, I promise. Except for the part where it relates to my plan to take over the Theatre District.”

Oswald had told him last week that Maroni wanted him to prioritize that territory above all others, which made perfect sense. It was the most lucrative. And there was also that little detail about it belonging to Fish Mooney. She and Oswald had always been bound to come to blows sooner or later. There had been too much blood between them, including the reason why Oswald and he had eaten on the bed instead of at the table. Oswald’s shattered bone may have been payback for him snitching on her, but Jim didn’t care about her reasons when Oswald dragged his leg as he walked, grimacing on the bad days. Every time that he saw his boyfriend in pain, he knew that he would not be sorry to see her go.

“What do you need to tell me?” Jim asked. 

“There is someone who I might be able to convince to spy for me. I met him early last year. He’s a… Well, he’s a prostitute.”

Oh. Well. That was unexpected. Oswald had been very vague about his experience in the bedroom before meeting Jim, but Jim had assumed that he had had some form of relationship, not visited a brothel.

“Were you his client?”

“Yes. But only three times. I was feeling curious and I’ve never had any luck in this regard. We spent half of our time talking, actually. It was just blow jobs. We never fucked. I didn’t lie about that.”

Well, then. Oswald had done far worse things than pay for sex. Harvey paid for it quite often. Jim wasn’t one to judge. Although now something started making sense. Oswald had been surprisingly good the first time that he gave Jim a blow job, far better than Jim was, he was sure. But didn’t usually the prostitutes give their clients the blow jobs, not the other way around? Oh God, had Oswald been comparing Jim’s amateur efforts to a prostitute’s? Sex was their profession. That man’s skills must be phenomenal. Jim’s efforts must have seemed meager in comparison.

“Jim?”

Jim looked up at Oswald, suddenly realizing that he had been quiet for far longer than he should have.

“You are okay with this, right?” Oswald asked, a hint of disquiet in his face.

“Yes,” Jim said, hoping that his smile looked genuine. “You don’t owe me an explanation of who you had sex with before you met me.”

Oswald looked away for a second.

“I do if I’m meeting him tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Gabe set up an appointment with him at a hotel. Normally, Jeremy takes clients at the brothel, but sometimes he makes house calls.”

“Jeremy? That’s his name?”

“Yes. He doesn’t know that it’s me that he’s meeting.”

“You do trust him, don’t you?”

“I trust him not to do something stupid. I think he likes me. We are woefully short on allies at the moment. I think it’s worth a shot to see if he’s willing to help us. He helps administer the brothel that he works at, so he has some managerial access that could be useful.”

“And if he’s not willing to help us?”

Oswald frowned at him.

“I’m not going to hurt him, Jim. I would never. He was always so kind to me, and not just out of obligation. I highly doubt that he would tell on me. We didn’t know each other long, but… Well, I only met you once before knowing what kind of man you are.”

It sounded like this Jeremy and Oswald shared some emotional attachment. Or, at least, Oswald had felt something for him. One didn’t engage the same prostitute without being interested in them, and, if Oswald was so sure that this one might risk Falcone’s wrath to help them, perhaps it had been about more than Jeremy’s sex skills. 

Anyway, that didn’t matter. Oswald was with Jim now and he didn’t doubt his love for a second.

“Okay,” Jim said. “I trust you. I also trust you to meet with a prostitute, alone, in a hotel room.”

He meant that as a bit of joke, but Oswald took it seriously, because he grabbed Jim’s left hand, fixing him with a sincere and concerned gaze.

“You’re not jealous, are you? He’s fun, but he’s not you.”

Jim squeezed his hand, covering it with his right.

“I’m not worried about that. Come on. I know you.”

“Then why do you look unsure?”

Huh? Oh, shit. Oswald noticed when Jim had been speculating about Jeremy.

“I’m not unsure. I’m just thinking… about things.”

“What things?”

Crap. No way was Jim going to ask him if he had had feelings for Jeremy. That sounded much too distrustful. But there had been that other thing. He absolutely did not want to say that one, either, but if he insisted that it was nothing, then Oswald would definitely think that it was something.

“Did you blow him?” Jim asked. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. I was just… The thing is, when you first gave me a blow job, I was surprised at how good you were. It was impressive for your first time. I thought it was your first time. You were vague about what you had done before, so I shouldn’t have assumed. I just couldn’t help wondering, that’s all.”

Oswald looked down at the blanket for a moment, a little half-smile peeking at the edge of his mouth. Was he smiling at Jim’s fumbling? Was it relief that Jim wasn’t jealous? Or was it the memory of the sexual encounter? Damnit, when had Jim become so insecure? He had had a lot more sex than Oswald. It was completely unfair for him to feel this way. 

“Yes,” Oswald said. “I learned with him.”

“Right. That makes total sense now. Well, as the beneficiary of such training, I can’t really complain.”

Although he kind of wished that he could go with Oswald to this meeting to make his own assessment about this Jeremy who Oswald would be placing so much faith in, but even suggesting such a thing would smack of distrust. 

“So you are okay with me seeing him?” Oswald asked.

“Of course.” Jim kissed Oswald to reassure him. “Don’t give it another thought.”

````````````  
_Eleven months earlier_

Jeremy had been his choice as soon as Oswald saw him sitting in the parlor of the Everleigh, the most prestigious of the brothels in the Theatre District. It masqueraded as a social club, but a select few, admitted by invitation only, knew better. Those who worked for Fish Mooney enjoyed reduced fare at the establishment, a form of employee discount. It was also one of the few places that screened their clientele for venereal diseases, so that neither party had to worry about catching something nasty just for $300 worth of work or pleasure. 

The man who he would come to know as Jeremy had been lounging on one of the royal blue sofas wearing a tasteful powder blue button up shirt and black slacks, reading the newspaper, which made Oswald think that he was a client and not a prostitute, but, if he were a client, he would be with someone. Admittance to the Everleigh was too pricey to waste it reading the paper. The man had dark hair a little shorter than Oswald’s and a finely featured face, handsome and just the slightest bit pretty. His tall frame reclined comfortably on the cushions, long legs crossed. He looked older than the other hustlers. Oswald would guess his age as being somewhere in his late twenties or early thirties. Every once in a while, he would glance up from atop the paper, skimming the room with keen interest before lowering his gaze again. On one of the surveys, his gaze paused on Oswald, who flushed, nervously aware that he had been staring and embarrassed by his lack of decorum. The man lowered the paper to his lap. Oswald followed the motion before looking back at his face, which now bore an intrigued smile. The man stood up and approached Oswald, hands tucked into his pockets, head tilted slightly, beckoning.

“Hello,” he said, dark eyes smiling.

Oswald wondered where his confidence had gone as he squeaked a shaky,

“Hello.” 

“First time?”

“Yes. I have been in one of these establishments before, but, I confess, this is the first time that I have been seeking someone.”

“Well, you found that someone. I’m Jeremy.”

“I’m Oswald.”

“Do you want to come over to my room, Oswald?”

Oswald felt a tingling in his belly at the way that Jeremy’s voice curled around his name. It was all false flirtation, of course. He knew that, but he let himself get wrapped up in the performance.

“Yes, I-I would.”

Of course, it wasn’t Jeremy’s actual room that they went to, but one of the many bedrooms upstairs that the brothel reserved for more intimate encounters, decorated in the same decadent, yet tastefully classical style as the downstairs. It contained the basics: a bed, a desk and chair, and an armoire, which would likely be filled with all sorts of goodies to please a client’s various proclivities. Jeremy closed the door behind him and slid in front of Oswald, still smiling.

“What would you like to do?” he asked, tugging at the ends of Oswald’s bow tie until the knot came undone.

“Well.” Oswald’s breath stilled when Jeremy tugged his tie out of his shirt collar, the fabric rubbing at the back of his neck. “I was thinking.” Jeremy started unbuttoning his shirt. “You could suck me off?”

Jeremy kissed the hollow of Oswald’s throat. Oswald gasped at the feel of those warm lips on his skin. 

“I can definitely do that.”

Jeremy removed Oswald’s clothes, which Oswald thought was a little excessive for a blow job, but given how delightfully Jeremy’s hands were skimming over his body, he wasn’t going to argue. Besides, Jeremy removed his as well, so Oswald wasn’t the only naked one in the room. Oswald stared at Jeremy’s toned muscles for so long that he forgot what he had asked for, but his body didn’t, standing to attention, impatiently waiting for that smirking mouth to surround it. Jeremy led him to the bed and sat him down, spreading his legs wide so that he could kneel between them. 

“Is there a particular way that you like it?” Jeremy asked.

Oswald had no idea.

“Surprise me,” Oswald said as slyly as he could, striving to cover up the fact that he had never gone beyond kissing before. 

Jeremy encircled his member with his hand, stroking him a couple of times and making Oswald gasp, delicious sensation shooting through his skin. When Jeremy suckled on his head, Oswald gripped the edge of the mattress, a moan escaping his mouth. Jeremy sucked him in further, his lips tight around Oswald, glorious wetness lighting every nerve ending on fire. Oh dear God almighty. This was the most glorious experience he’d ever had. He lost memory at some point after that, so overwhelmed by the delight wracking his body that he barely remembered coming inside Jeremy’s mouth or the careful hands that lowered him down on the bed, carrying him further up on it so that he wasn’t hanging half off. 

Oswald awoke to the feel of soft fingers rubbing his brow. Only then did he realize that he had drifted off. He opened his eyes. Jeremy was sitting beside him on the bed, smiling down at him.

“I hate to wake you,” Jeremy said. “But I would also hate for you to feel cheated if you slept the rest of your time away.”

Oh. Oswald blinked a couple of times, struggling to get his brain to function. It had never been this difficult after he jerked off, but that blow job had left all his efforts in the darkest shade. 

“How long has it been?” he asked, knowing that Jeremy had been keeping track of the time since the minute that they entered the room.

“Twenty minutes.”

Should he go another twenty? With his discount, he should be able to afford it.

“Do you mind if I ask something?” Jeremy asked. “I hope it’s not too forward.”

“No, that’s okay. What’s your question?”

“Was this your first blow job?”

So much for subterfuge.

“Am I that obvious?”

“I got a bit of a virginal vibe from you.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Oswald forced a smile, trying to feel less pathetic for going to a prostitute to satisfy what no one else had been willing to. Jeremy stroked his hair, fingertips massaging his scalp. His smile felt more genuine this time.

“That’s alright,” he said. “More virgins walk through those doors than you’d think.”

“Really?”

“In the past, some aristocrats would pay ladies of the night to take their sons’ virginity, so you’re hardly alone. You could even argue that it’s traditional.”

“I’m not sure if I could. Unless there is a very salacious skeleton in my family tree, I’m afraid that I am no aristocrat.”

“In any case.” Jeremy slid his hand up Oswald’s right thigh, dipping his fingers between his legs right before reaching Oswald’s cock. “If you want me to pop your cherry, as it were.” One finger stroked along Oswald’s perineum, making him gasp and his back arch. “I would be more than happy to do so.”

Oswald almost said yes.

“No. Not now.”

If a blow job had made him pass out, that might leave him a zombie until morning. Pushing himself up on his arm, he looked at Jeremy’s member, which was limp on his thigh. Not terribly promising, but Oswald laid a questioning hand on Jeremy’s thigh, anyway.

“Could I,” Oswald asked, “perhaps suck you?”

“Of course you can.”

Jeremy took his wrist and guided Oswald’s hand to his cock. Oswald gripped it with the same amount of pressure as he did with his own, enjoying the novelty of having another man in his hand, and stroked him. It didn’t take long for Jeremy to harden. Resting on his elbows, Oswald lowered his head toward it. Before he touched it, he glanced up at Jeremy, who was regarding him with an encouraging expression.

“Feel free to tell me if I’m doing anything wrong,” Oswald said. “I probably will do something wrong.” 

“I will guide you through it. Go on.”

Oswald widened his lips, breathed in deep to calm his nerves, and took him in his mouth.

```````````  
_Three weeks later_

Jeremy came with a sharp inhale, spurting into Oswald’s mouth. His hand relaxed on Oswald’s shoulder. He had gripped it right as he was about to come, to Oswald’s delight. It was a first. Jeremy always guided him calmly, patient teacher that he was. Never before had he grabbed at Oswald in passion, indicating his enjoyment so avidly. Oswald’s skills were improving. Just under a month ago his amateur efforts had been so pathetic that he hadn’t been able to bring Jeremy to orgasm. How embarrassed he had been. But Jeremy had calmed him down with his soothing voice and encouraged him to come back, and so he had. This time he succeeded. And now he’d returned again. Jeremy was growing a little addictive. 

“You’re really coming into your own there,” Jeremy said, panting.

Oswald sat up, a big grin on his face. Jeremy was leaning heavily against the headboard, sweat shining on his collarbone. Oswald wanted to kiss him, but Jeremy had only allowed it once, discouraging any further attempts. 

“I’m starting to think,” Jeremy said, “that I should give you your money back.”

“Oh, you. I’m not that good.”

“You’re getting there. Do you want me to do you now? I’m going to need a second.”

“No, that’s fine. Do you want to play cards? I don’t have to leave for a while.”

“Okay.”

They were on their second game of Rummy when Jeremy said,

“You know, I don’t usually play games with my clients. Not this kind of game, anyway.”

“Oh? You didn’t mention anything when I asked you to play last time I was here. I’ve seen your coworkers playing with guests in the parlor.”

“Yes, some of them do. I never have, though.”

Oswald lowered his cards slightly. 

“Then why did you say yes to me?”

Jeremy shrugged, laying down a set of three 8s in front of him. 

“I had enjoyed your company so far, so I thought, why not?”

On the outside, it looked like a compliment, but Oswald had the feeling that he was leading to something else. 

"This is the third time that you've come here," Jeremy continued, setting down his discard card. "You're dangerously close to becoming a regular."

That was true. It had certainly not been his intention when he first came here. He had been satisfying his curiosity, albeit one that he had been harboring listlessly for a long while. 

"Do you mind if I become a regular?" Oswald asked, slowly, feeling that he should parse his words carefully.

"No. Of course not." Jeremy smiled, his entire expression crafted to be disingenuous. "Like I said, I enjoy your company."

Oswald set down a 7 of diamonds next to Jeremy's sequence of 8, 9, and 10.

"I'm getting the feeling that there's something else that you wish to say," he said.

Jeremy held his cards high in one hand, not looking away from them.

"I'm just wondering. Most regulars have wives or longstanding girlfriends, or they used to have them, but now they don't feel like there's anything more for them."

"But you said that a lot of virgins come here."

"They do. But they generally don't become regulars."

Oswald hesitated right before putting down his discard card.

"Ignore me," Jeremy said, shaking his head. "I'm rambling. I shouldn’t have said anything. I was just thinking out loud.”

He picked a new card and immediately set it down on one of Oswald’s sets. Oswald returned his smile, but he wasn’t truly feeling it anymore. Doubt had begun to grow in his belly. Was Jeremy afraid that Oswald was getting too attached? Oswald had only been by once a week. That was hardly smothering, was it? Was it the card games? Oswald hadn’t known that Jeremy didn’t play them with anyone else. He could have said no the first time that Oswald brought it up. Oswald’s wouldn’t have pressed. It wasn’t like Oswald wanted him to be his boyfriend. One didn’t pay one’s boyfriend at the end of a blowjob. 

“Hey,” Jeremy said.

Oswald looked up, painfully aware that he hadn’t replied to Jeremy’s last comment. Jeremy held up his empty hands, wagging his fingers.

“I’m done,” Jeremy said. “No more cards.”

What? When had he set his cards down? Oswald had barely paid attention to the game at all for the last five minutes.

“But I have ten cards left,” he protested.

Jeremy shrugged, smirking in satisfaction. 

“That’s the nature of the game.” He glanced at the clock. “You have twenty minutes left. Do you want me to take care of you?”

Stretching out his right leg, Jeremy pressed his foot along Oswald’s thigh, skimming down with his toes to Oswald’s rapidly interested member. Oswald grabbed Jeremy’s ankle, tugging him away. Despite his body’s reaction, he didn’t actually want to.

“Not right now,” Oswald said, smiling with a sentiment that he didn’t feel.

Jeremy removed his foot.

“Okay,” he said. “What do you want to do?”

Leave.

“How about another game?”

“Of course.”

The game only lasted ten minutes. Ten more left, but he didn’t feel like staying.

“Oswald,” Jeremy said, noticing Oswald’s unease. “You’re not still thinking about what I said, are you?”

“No. I just have to get up early in the morning to get some grocery shopping done.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. I like having you here.”

Jeremy probably told all his clients that.

“I know,” Oswald said, pulling on his jacket. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“I was only wondering what motivated you to come back, that’s all. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“Why wouldn’t I come back? Don’t tell me that you’re doubting your abilities. I’ve told you how good you are.”

“I’m not the only skilled worker in this establishment.” 

“No. I’m sure that’s the case, but… I like you. I like being with you.”

Jeremy didn’t reply, his gaze drifting away, expression too serious for there to be any doubt that he didn’t like that answer. Turning away, Oswald rushed with his tie, fumbling with the ends, the bow coming out all wonky. He preferred a continental cross, but Ms. Mooney liked bow ties on him. She probably thought that they made him look more servile, like the waiters at her club. Jeremy came up behind him, footsteps unusually loud on the wooden floorboards, as if he was afraid to startle Oswald, and slid in front of him to help him with his bow tie. Oswald almost refused his aid when Jeremy’s fingers touched the blue fabric, but he dropped his hands instead, letting Jeremy tie it in a perfect knot. 

“Come back as often as you want, alright?” Jeremy said, but his eyes barely rose to meet Oswald’s.

Oswald nodded, stepping back to leave.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, not sure if he meant it.

```````````````````  
_Present Day_

The hotel room faced the street, so Oswald could observe who came and went through the entrance of the hotel from the fifth floor, which he might be doing a bit too avidly, but it had been a long time since the last time that he’d seen Jeremy. And he did have a lot ridding on this. Acquiring his own mole was essential to taking down Fish. He couldn’t do it on his own, especially with Don Falcone unwilling to move against her despite her obvious insubordination. 

For the fourth time that day, he checked his phone. No missed calls. His mom hadn't called him all day. He bit his bottom lip, unnerved by her sudden silence. Had she given up? But she couldn't have. She was too bull headed, too convinced that her way was right. She loved him too much. Making sure (again) that the vibrate was set to the maximum, he put the phone back in his jacket pocket, snug against his chest where he could feel it.

He looked out the window, his discomfort lifting when he spotted that familiar figure. Jeremy walked up the sidewalk right below the window wearing a long charcoal grey coat to protect himself from the drizzle falling outside. Oswald pressed his face against the glass pane until he lost view of him near the hotel’s entrance, then stepped back, unconsciously smoothing down his jacket. It wasn’t wrinkled, but he wanted to make sure. Good presentation never hurt, especially when he was about to ask such a massive favor. He only hoped that Jeremy didn’t think that he was crossing a line. 

His watch read 2:59 when Jeremy knocked on the door. Just in time. Oswald opened the door, smiling up at Jeremy’s shocked face.

“Oswald?” 

“Hello, Jeremy.”

Oswald stepped back from the doorway.

“Please, come in,” he said, sweeping out his right arm to invite him in.

Jeremy entered and Oswald closed the door behind him. Jeremy pivoted around to keep staring at him. He didn’t appear displeased to see Oswald, though, only surprised.

“I never expected my client to be you,” he said. 

“I apologize for the subterfuge,” Oswald said, holding up his hands in a plea for understanding. “But I wish to keep our meeting a secret.”

“Is that for my protection or yours?”

“Both of us. I confess, I have lured you here under false pretenses. I’m afraid that nothing sexual is going to occur between us today. I merely wish to talk.”

“Oh. Well, I can’t say that I’m not disappointed. You were always fun to be with. That’s not something that I say often. Though I do hesitate to ask why you don’t want anyone to know that we have spoken.”

“Well, I work for Maroni now.”

“Ah, yes. I heard the whole thrilling tale. I must say, I was happy to hear that you weren’t really dead.”

Oswald pressed his right hand over his heart, acknowledging the sincerity of Jeremy’s words.

“Thank you,” he said. “I really appreciate it. I hope that my presumed demise didn’t cause you too much distress.”

“I can’t say that it didn’t.” Jeremy looked away for a moment. His lips tightened a bit. “I do like you. I was a little disappointed when you didn’t return, though I know I’m the one who drove you away. Janice got so cross with me for that, promising client that you were.”

“I thought you would rather that I didn’t return.”

“You were inexperienced. I was afraid that you were developing feelings that I couldn’t reciprocate.”

“I wasn’t. I knew it was just business.”

“I presumed too much. I apologize.”

“I just wanted some company.”

Jeremy regarded him silently for a moment, then nodded.

“I understand that. I’m sorry. You know, if we’re keeping sex out of the equation, you don’t have to pay me to be your friend.”

Oswald smiled, startled by the declaration. Jeremy was willing to be his friend. But the timing was wrong. The circumstances were all wrong. When Oswald told him whey he had lured him here, Jeremy would rescind his friendship offer in a second, wondering what had ever possessed him to make it.

“I’m so happy to hear that,” Oswald said. “But you might want to delay your offer until I explain why I’m here.”

“Ah. So it is business, then? I do wonder why you would need protection from meeting me. I don’t see why Maroni would care. Some of our new clients are from his organization, now that he and Falcone are at peace.”

“Well, he wouldn’t be mad. Actually, um… It’s a little more complicated than that. I need a favor. First of all, I want to emphasize that you are under no obligation to say yes. None at all. I will fully understand if you deny my request.”

“That doesn’t bode well. You’re not looking to turn me into your mole, are you?”

Oswald hesitated, not long, only two seconds, but that was enough for Jeremy’s eyes to widen and his jaw to drop.

“Oswald, you can’t be serious.”

“Jeremy, please allow me to explain.”

“Does Maroni want to take over Falcone’s operation? Is that it?”

“Only part of it.”

“You have other ways to manage that, I’m sure. You don’t have to involve me.”

“It wasn’t my first choice to involve you. Or even my second. I have given this a lot of thought, I promise you. Like I said, you don’t have to say yes, but your help would be an enormous benefit. Many of Falcone’s lieutenants frequent the Everleigh.”

“So get one of my coworkers to be your mole.”

“I am open to considering options. Although I would be more comfortable with you. You have a very keen eye and you already maintain yourself apprised of the current happenings, so you wouldn’t raise any suspicions at all.”

“Oswald, if my boss finds out, she will tell Falcone, and he will kill me.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“Please don’t give me empty promises. You have no way of guaranteeing that.”

Jeremy was right, but Oswald had been able to buy his own life back from Falcone once already. Yet, should he make Jeremy aware of this information? Who would he tell? He had no motive to harm Oswald, but one could never be certain. Of course, Jeremy disclosing Oswald’s need for a mole within Falcone’s organization was already dangerous to him. And how else to convince him? 

“I will spin something to Falcone,” Oswald said. “I’ll convince him that you helping me is really helping him.”

Jeremy frowned at him, tilting his head to the side in momentary incomprehension before his eyes widened as he put the pieces together.

“Wait,” he said, raising one hand in front of him as if to stave off the madness of Oswald’s words. “You’re Falcone’s mole.”

Oswald nodded.

“Yes.”

“Your fake death… No, you really did snitch on Mooney. She hates you. She’d kill you with her own hands if she could. That can’t be feigned. Did you make a secret deal with him?”

“Yes. That is why I cannot take a direct approach here. I can’t tip off Falcone that I’m working against him.”

“So I’m your buffer.”

“Inside man.”

Jeremy scoffed, shaking his head in disgust.

“Do you know how many spies get burned for the sake of their employers?”

“I can protect you if you’re caught. I’m very good at convincing Falcone to spare lives I care about.”

Jeremy pondered this for a second.

“Like your friend Gordon’s?”

Oswald nodded.

“Yes.”

“I knew that it made no sense for Falcone not to kill him. Gordon not killing you on Falcone’s orders would explain that, but not after that stunt he pulled at Falcone’s house.”

Jim, of course, had received no such orders, but it was best to remain focused on the matter before them and not go into tangents. 

“Jim escaped after pointing a gun to Falcone’s head,” Oswald said. “If I could convince Falcone to spare him, I can certainly protect you.”

Jeremy shook his head.

“Not if he knows you have turned on him. Again, no less.”

Oswald’s hope started to wane. Jeremy raised excellent points, of course, like he tended to do. Any protection that Oswald might be able to offer was not guaranteed. It couldn’t be. 

“Like I said, you’re under no obligation to help me. Here.” 

Oswald reached into his inner jacket pocket and took out an envelope with Jeremy’s payment for the assignation, plus a little extra.

“You can leave at any time,” Oswald said, handing Jeremy the envelope.

Jeremy counted the money, frowning up at Oswald halfway through.

“There’s too much in here,” Jeremy said.

“Just a little tip.”

“It’s not a tip, Oswald. This is what you were going to pay me if I said yes.”

“Well, yes. Given the circumstances, consider it an incentive for you to keep my little secret.”

“I don’t need an incentive. And there’s too much in here. You’re hoping that I’ll change my mind.”

“Is it so wrong of me to hope that?”

“I don’t like being manipulated.”

“I’m not. I’m nor forcing you—“

“Then take your money.”

Removing the excess cash from the envelope, Jeremy thrust it at him. Oswald stared at the bills, then slowly raised his gaze to Jeremy’s face. It was hard and unyielding. Oswald took the money and folded it in his hands, fingers twitching, starting to lose his composure as he struggled to think of who else in Falcone’s operation might be willing to help him. There were men he could buy, sure, but the shifting sands of Falcone’s organization were too uncertain. He needed someone trustworthy, someone who wouldn’t backstab him for a better deal later on. 

“Good-bye, Oswald,” Jeremy said, turning toward the door. Seeing him walk away from him made Oswald panic.

“Maroni threatened Jim,” he blurted out. 

Jeremy stopped, looking back at him.

“What?” he asked.

“If I don’t get Maroni part of Falcone’s organization, he’s going to kill Jim Gordon. Then he’s going to kill me. He found out that I’m a mole for Falcone. Please. I’m begging you. I need your help. If not you, maybe you can lead me to someone you can trust. I am very short on options. I wouldn’t have come to you if there was anyone else I could ask. Please.”

Jeremy started to soften. Oswald could see it, right there in the angry conflict in his eyes.

“He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?” Jeremy asked softly.

Oswald nodded.

“Yes. I love him.”

“God damn it, Oswald.” 

Jeremy rubbed his forehead, then swept his hand back over his head, yanking at his hair in frustration. 

“I just said,” Jeremy said, “that I hate you manipulating me and you keep on doing it.”

He glared at Oswald with a fierceness that rivaled even Jim’s, but he was already folding. He couldn’t sustain his indignation, not when he saw that Oswald was being sincere. Jeremy was a good man. And good men were easy to predict.

“I saw a phone number written inside the envelope,” Jeremy said. “I assume it’s yours.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I may call it later. I may not. I probably won’t, so don’t hold your breath.”

Oswald nodded.

“Thank you so much for considering it. I’m really sorry to put you in this position. Truly, I am.”

Giving Oswald one more furious glance, Jeremy yanked the door open and walked out, pulling it firmly shut behind him. 

``````````````  
The scent of baking lasagna pervaded the apartment when Jim arrived that night. He found Oswald in the kitchen leaning against the counter and staring at the oven with a lost expression. A Bamonte’s bag sat on the counter. Oswald hadn’t brought food over since the incident with Maroni. He must be too tired to cook himself. Oswald looked up when Jim came in, but while he did look happy to see him, his smile was pale and lacking.

“Hey,” Jim said, kissing him hello. “How did it go today?”

With that Jeremy guy. The Jeremy who Jim had been shoving to the back of his mind the whole day. And not because he was jealous. Because Jeremy was an unknown entity, past acquaintance of Oswald or not, and if he refused Oswald’s request, which was very likely, he could prove dangerous for them. 

“Jeremy said that he’s going to consider it,” Oswald said, holding Jim’s hand.

“Do you think he’ll say yes?”

“I don’t know. He has no reason to. It’s a huge risk for him. But I think there’s a chance.”

Oswald’s facial expression didn’t match his statement. He looked downtrodden, like a newspaper so soaked that the paper fibers were shredding apart. If it wasn’t Jeremy causing his disquiet, then it had to be his mother, but Jim wasn’t sure whether he should bring her up. As it turned out, he didn’t have to.

“Mother hasn’t called me all day,” Oswald said. “I… I don’t know how to interpret that.”

Jim rubbed his back.

“Maybe she’s just taking some time to think. Her calling demanding that you come home was obviously going nowhere."

"I suppose," Oswald said, not sounding the least bit reassured. "She does love to sulk."

 _It's obvious where you got that from_ , Jim thought, but obviously did not breathe a word of it. Instead, he kissed him on the forehead and pulled him close.

"She'll come around. She loves you too much to let you go."

Oswald nodded against his cheek, breath whistling in Jim's ear as he sucked in a deep inhale. Jim prayed that he was right.

The timer dinged. 

"The lasagna is done," Oswald said, letting go of Jim.

"I'll take it out."

"Okay."

Oswald went to sit at the table as Jim picked up the insulated oven gloves. Through the partition in the kitchen wall above the stove, Jim saw him take out his phone. His morose expression worsened. No new calls, then. Jim cut him an extra large piece. Oswald needed the comfort food.

```````````````  
Oswald's phone rang just after noon the next day. He rushed to answer it, barely noting the unknown number before pressing the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" he said.

"First of all,” a masculine voice said. Jeremy. “You’re a bastard for asking me to do this.”

Oswald sagged at not hearing his mother, but it would be odd for her to not be using the house phone. Silly hope on his part, really. 

“I fully accept the insult,” Oswald said. “I deserve it.”

“I want to say no. I called to say no.”

Oswald gripped the wall of the building he had been walking beside. He stopped feeling the chilly drizzle on his skin.

“Does that mean that you won’t say no?”

There was a long pause. Oswald swallowed an anxious breath, forcing himself not to blurt out a plea that might prompt Jeremy to refuse him out of spite.

“No, I’m not saying no.”

Oh, thank God.

“I’m not saying yes, either. I’m saying that I’ll keep an ear out.”

Oswald needed considerably more than an ear, but if he asked too much of Jeremy, he would bolt. It would be best not to shove at the edge of his discomfort. 

“Thank you. I’m so, very grateful.”

“If this scheme of yours gets me killed, I’m going to haunt you every second of every day.”

“I accept that.”

“Good. I’m counting on your brilliant persuasive skills here if Falcone finds out. Now, I’m going to give you my cell number and I would appreciate it if you would please not save it with my name attached to it.”

“Of course not. I would never treat your safety so callously.”

“You do remember what you’re asking me to do, right?”

“If you want to change your mind, you still can”

The line went a little staticky as Jeremy sighed.

“I already did all the back and forth in my head. The balls’s rolling. Let’s just keep going forward with it, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You already died once. I don’t want it to be for real next time.”

Oswald’s hand slid off the wall. He dropped against it, touched by Jeremy’s words. His shoulder blades pressed against the brick construction as he watched the raindrops peck at the pockmarked sidewalk. A bittersweet smile tugged on his lips.

“I won’t get caught this time,” he said. “I promise, I will do my utmost to protect you.”

“Protect yourself, too.”

“I will. Thank you. From both of us, Jim and me. Thank you.”

````````````````````  
_He said yes!_

_Jeremy?_

_Yes. He’s not happy, but he’s going to help us._

_Not happy? Might he back out?_

_I told him he can, but I think he’s in. He doesn’t want me to die._

So Jeremy did care about Oswald. Not wanting someone to die wasn’t much, but putting your neck on the line was. 

_That’s great. I’m all for people who don’t want you to die. Did he ask for the money he returned to you?_

Jim wasn’t sure why he asked the last part. Perhaps because what he knew about Jeremy could fit in a teaspoon and yet they were entrusting him with Oswald’s life. A man who Oswald had only met three times before.

_No. He doesn’t want it. Not now, anyway. Says he can’t explain how he got it if they check his bank account, which is true. I kind of promised him a blank check if this all works out, though. He’ll probably take the brothel._

Huh. So money was not a motivator for him. It wasn’t as likely that someone else would buy him out, then.

_Sounds reasonable. I’m glad that worked out._

_: )_

A smiley face. At least Oswald was smiling again, even if only in emoticon form. Although, given his excitement, he was probably smiling for real, as well. For that alone, Jim would give Jeremy Falcone’s whole organization.

````````````````  
The next morning, Oswald’s cell phone rang just as Jim was about to leave the apartment. They never answered each other’s phones, but Oswald was still in bed, and with his mother not communicating for the past two days, he decided to check it just in case. The phone sat on the dinning table, left there on purpose the night before after Jim finally convinced Oswald to stop checking for missed calls every five minutes. Oswald had hardly gotten any sleep the night before. He couldn’t cease worrying about her silence, but he needed a rest, small as it turned out to be. Jim had felt him rolling around on the bed all night. He only stopped when Jim spooned him, hoping that the skin contact would bring him some comfort. 

Pulling on his coat, Jim picked up Oswald’s phone. He gaped at the screen, right arm stopping halfway through the coat sleeve. 

_Home_ , the screen read. 

Oswald’s mother was calling. She was finally calling. It rang again, for the fourth time. Any second now, it would go to voicemail. Jim didn’t have time to run to the room, wake up Oswald, and ask him what he wanted to do, and Oswald was so desperate to talk to her again, so before he knew what he was doing, Jim pressed the answer button and held the phone up to his ear. 

“Mrs. Kapelput,” he said, talking fast. “Please don’t hang up. Oswald wants to talk to you. I just couldn’t get the phone to him in time before it went to voicemail.”

As he spoke, he ran to the bedroom. 

“Mr. Gordon,” she said, voice as frosty as ice stuck to a windshield. “Could you put my son on, please?”

Please? She actually told him “please”? Deeply ingrained politeness, perhaps? Not that she had shown him any on Monday. She didn’t even insult him this time. Maybe that would come later. 

Oswald was still fast asleep. Jim shook his shoulder gently.

“Of course, ma’am,” Jim said. “Just a moment.”

Oswald was beginning to stir, eyes blinking open, scrunching his face in sleepy confusion as he looked up at Jim. 

“What is it?” he asked.

Pressing the phone to his chest, Jim said,

“Your mom’s on the phone.”

Oswald’s jaw dropped.

“What?” He scrambled upright, lowering his legs over the side of the bed. “Hand me the phone.”

Jim did and stepped back, wanting to give him some privacy, but he was so nervous that he couldn’t bring himself to leave the room, instead hovering around the doorway, crossing his arms, fingers scratching at the fabric of his coat as he watched desperate sadness and hope play over Oswald’s face.

```````````````

“Good morning, mother,” Oswald said, congratulating himself on not letting his voice shake.

“Oswald, darling. Why didn’t you answer any of my calls?”

“You know why. You kept wanting me to change my mind. I won’t do that.”

He could practically hear his mother signing in disappointment and he braced himself for further rebuke.

“I went to the library. I got some books.”

Huh? 

“What sort of books?”

“About, you know, what you say you are.”

Oswald pressed his hand over his eyes. God, she couldn’t even say it. But she had actually sought books about homosexuality. Was this happening? Had Jim been right? Had some time to process his secret been all she needed?

“Gay, mother. Gay is the word you’re looking for.”

“Yes, that. Well, I found some books on… gay people.”

Oh God, she said it. And her tone was not derisive at all. 

“And did you read them?”

“Yes. One is for parents. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

_Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God._

Looking at Jim, Oswald extended his right hand, silently imploring Jim to take it. Jim rushed to his side, grabbing Oswald’s hand in both of his as he sat down, holding it in his lap. 

“Can we please talk?” mother asked. “Face to face?”

Oswald squeezed Jim’s hand.

“Are you going to be reasonable?”

“I’ll listen to what you have to say, darling.”

Relief swept through Oswald’s body. It might be too early to celebrate. Mother’s head was probably still filled with homophobic nonsense, but it was a step forward. 

“Can Jim come?”

She didn’t reply right away. Perhaps that was too much for her at this stage, but there would be no reconciliation if she didn’t treat Jim fairly. 

“Yes, he can come.”

She didn’t sound happy about that addendum, but at least she seemed to acknowledge that he was determined not to do this by halves. 

“Thank you, mom. Hold on a moment.”

Covering the phone microphone with his fingers, Oswald turned to Jim, who had been regarding him the whole time with concern.

“She wants to talk,” Oswald whispered. “Please come with me. I need you there.”

Jim nodded.

“Of course. I’ll take a sick day.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

Jim kissed him on the forehead.

“We’ll be there at 11,” Oswald told his mother. 

“I will be waiting for you. I have missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you.”

They hung up and Oswald set the phone down, hands trembling with happiness. 

“She wants to talk to us,” he said, wrapping Jim up in a fierce hug. “She actually wants to have a civil conversation. I hope. She read some books from the library. One is for parents, probably with how to deal with when your kid comes out. You were right. I think you were right.”

“I’m so happy for you.” Cupping his face in his hands, Jim kissed him and Oswald eagerly returned the kiss, grinning all the way through it. “I really, really hoped that she would come around. I was terrified that she would hang up when she heard me answer your phone, but I didn’t have time to wake you before it went to voicemail.”

“But she didn’t hang up.”

“Didn’t even insult me.”

Oswald laughed, kissing Jim again. 

“I’ve got to get ready. I need to shower. I need to be presentable.”

“Oswald, you could wear a potato sack. She wouldn’t care.”

Oswald shuddered at the notion. 

“Do you have a nicer suit than that? The least things she finds fault with, the better. She latches on to any petty excuse when she’s put out.”

He wouldn’t put it past her to say that Jim wasn’t good enough for him because his shoes were scuffed. Butterflies were flying all over his stomach. His head was woozy. He wanted to run around the apartment crowing in triumph, but he also wanted to throw up. 

“I’ll wear a nicer suit. But, hey.” Jim took Oswald’s hands in both of his, looking straight into his eyes, grounding him. “We’re not out of the woods yet. But this is a good first step. This is all baby steps.”

Oswald nodded, biting his bottom lip. 

“I know. I know. Baby steps.”

It could still go horribly wrong. His mother, stubborn as she was, might very well remain intransigent. But it was a little hard not to grin like a loon right now.

````````````````  
Jim put on his nicest, charcoal grey suit. The last time that he had worn it was for the funeral of Bruce’s parents, a fact that he declined from sharing with Oswald. Any morbid connotations might jinx the already precarious ground that they were walking on. He drove them to the apartment. Oswald was too jittery to do it himself. He kept shifting in his seat, hands moving over his clothes, pulling, tucking, removing stray pieces of lint. His gaze wandered between staring out the window and looking at Jim. Halfway there, he placed his hand on Jim’s leg, needing the reassurance of physical contact. Jim covered it with his own hand as often as he could spare it from the wheel. 

Parking in Oswald’s space in the underground garage, he turned off the engine. Immediately, Oswald grabbed him, pressing his forehead against Jim’s, his eyes shut, breath shallow and jagged, trying its darnest to even out. It broke Jim’s heart to hear it.

“It will be okay,” Jim said, holding his head gently, trying not to mess up his hairstyle. “No matter what happens, you will be okay in the end. You hear me?”

Oswald nodded, hands tight on Jim’s wrists. 

“Yes. I’ll believe you.”

He didn’t look like he did, but verbal acknowledgement would have to do. Jim couldn’t imagine the turmoil that he was in right now. Oswald had spent the entire morning running around like a deranged Energizer bunny about to have a nervous breakdown. If this didn’t go well, Oswald would be a wreck for weeks, maybe even months. That first day had been hell, yet it had carried the hope of reconciliation once Oswald’s mother calmed down, but this was it. This was the moment. There might be other chances after this one, of course. Nothing was set in stone, but he didn’t want to see Oswald be beaten down to the bottom of that hill only to have to make the uphill climb all over again.

They walked up the stairs hand in hand, letting go only when they reached the top floor. Best not to press too hard at the beginning. Mrs. Kapelput’s potential acceptance was precarious enough as it was. Oswald opened the door and poked his head inside, calling out,

“Mother! We’re here.”

Jim followed him inside, closing the door quietly behind him. Oswald’s mother emerged from the kitchen and rushed forward to Oswald, hands held in front of her, clearly wanting to hug him, yet she stopped just short of doing so, looking up at Jim as if he were a snake that had to be handled with caution. The skin on his left cheek prickled. The scratches had faded, but the memory of her slap was still vivid. 

“Oh, Oswald,” she said, squeezing her hands together in front of her. “I am so happy to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you, too, mother.” Oswald smiled, the gesture fragile, too wary to be fully realized. “I’m so glad that you called. Your long silence worried me.”

“I took some time to think about what you said.”

“Yes. I imagine. I’m so glad that you did.”

“I know when you make up your mind, there’s no dissuading you. But this… You know I stick to the old ways. I didn’t want to see it.”

“I know. But the world changes, mom. And I couldn’t turn away from Jim. I wouldn’t. He makes me happy.”

The quick look that she shot Jim made it clear that she was not at all pleased by that, but it was a vast improvement over slapping him and calling him a disgrace. 

“Mother, before we talk any further, I would really appreciate it if you would apologize to Jim for how you treated him on Monday. You were very mean to him.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Jim said, but Oswald silenced him with a firm look. 

This whole time, he had felt like an awkward third wheel to an intimate mother-son moment, but now all eyes were on him and he wanted to shrink behind the couch. Facing criminals at gunpoint was less scary than having a displeased Mrs. Kapelput turn her gaze upon him.

“I apologize for my behavior towards you,” she said, her voice the height of diplomacy, if a little strained in tone. 

“I accept your apology,” Jim said, nodding in acknowledgement. “I appreciate it.”

He tried for a polite smile, not returned, of course, but Oswald was smiling at them, looking truly happy for the first time since Saturday. That was all that mattered to Jim. Oswald hugged his mom. Now she smiled.

“Thank you so much, mom. You have no idea what this means to me. I so want you two to be friends.”

Well, that might be speaking too soon. 

“Let’s sit down and discuss that, shall we?” she said.

They sat, a daytime tableau of their positions on Christmas Eve: Mrs. Kapelput on the right of the couch and Jim on the left, with Oswald dividing them. Jim wouldn’t say that he was hiding behind Oswald. Not exactly. Maybe a little. Oswald and his mom discussed while Jim did a brilliant impression of a cushion, thinking at times that he should let them talk alone, but he knew that Oswald had asked him to come for more than that apology. Having Jim at his side gave him the strength that he needed to have this horribly stilted conversation, so Jim was staying. There was a lot of back and forth and incisive questions about their relationship, many of which Oswald glossed over, and the resentful recriminations of “why did you lie to me” and “you know why”, yet even then Jim was surprised by how civil Mrs. Kapelput was being, figuring that her desperation not to have Oswald walk out on her again was keeping her more volatile opinions in check. Until she asked Oswald to move back in and he said no. There came the yelling that Jim had been expecting. 

“Why not?”

“Mother, I want to stay with Jim. I want to be close to him.”

“You’ve been together two weeks. You said. That’s too soon to move in together.”

“But we’ve known each other for months. I’ve loved him for months.”

“But he hasn’t.”

“Mother!”

This continued for some time, which Jim largely spent picking at the threads of the sofa cushions, trying to distract himself by guessing what style the furniture was. Barbara had tried to teach him once, but all the different names had gotten muddled in his brain. In the end, Oswald and his mom came to a compromise. Oswald would continue to live with Jim, but some of his things would remain here. That was more of a practical consideration, though. Jim had to do some considerable rearranging to accommodate Oswald’s things, so it was better if he brought them over slowly, in any case. Also, every other evening, Oswald would eat dinner here. It was a grey area whether Jim was invited to these dinners, although Jim suspected that he wasn’t. To be honest, Jim would rather not be. It was better for Oswald and his mother to spend some time together alone while they adjusted to the new circumstances and Jim’s presence would only make things uncomfortable.

After a couple of hours of this, either out of exhaustion or because no one wanted to hammer out the subject any further right now, the dialogue died down. Promising to come back for dinner that night, Oswald hugged his mother good-bye. They clutched each other for the longest time, tears in their eyes. Jim stood back, so relieved that the first step had worked out. Not everything was resolved, of course, not by a long shot. Mrs. Kapelput probably wanted to poison him, for one thing. Her look to him was no less cold as she begrudgingly said, 

“Good-bye, Mr. Gordon.”

At least she was making an effort for Oswald, even if it was simply not hitting him.

“Good-bye, Mrs. Kapelput.”

The apartment door shut behind them, Oswald immediately latched onto his hand, leading him quickly down the staircase before he couldn’t hold back any longer and hugged Jim, laugher rising in his throat, his smile so bright and beautiful. Jim kissed him. Finally, he could touch Oswald again. He had been yearning to do so desperately the entire time in the apartment, but even a supportive hand on Oswald’s shoulder might have upset the precarious balance between him and his mother. 

“She didn’t kick you out,” Oswald said, giggling, tears shining in his eyes still. “And she actually listened. Well, I’m sure some of it didn’t quite go in, but I thought that she would yell at me more. And she still hates you, of course. God, how I hate the way she looks at you.”

“Hey. She didn’t insult me once. That’s a win.”

“No, but I could see her thinking it.”

“Still, not expressing it out loud is a win.”

“Yes.” Oswald kissed him, caressing Jim’s cheeks. “Yes, it is.”

**Author's Note:**

> The Everleigh Club was a fancy brothel in Chicago in the early 1900s.


End file.
